Busted

As we ate lunch on the tailgate of my husband’s pickup truck in the Bu-cee’s parking lot, our grandson declared, “When I get home and see my Mom, I’m going to tell her our trip was a bust!” I’ll admit I was offended by this pronouncement. I immediately felt the impulse to list all the reasons why this trip had been worthwhile. But when the kindergartner explained his reasoning, I realized his word choice was apt: “This trip was a bust because our original plan was busted!”

To mark our 40th wedding anniversary, my husband and I had intended to spend two nights camping with our son and grandson at Carolina Beach State Park. Paul and I took our son camping for the first time during his kindergarten fall break in 1996, inaugurating an 18-year tradition of family camping every October. Including our son and his son on this anniversary trip seemed fitting - a way to savor old memories while making new ones.

As I planned our trip to the coast, I envisioned splashing in the waves with our newly acquired boogie boards (which I rescued from a trash can on my trip to the Gulf Coast in September), exploring trails in the state park (like the Venus Flytrap Trail), and preparing pancake breakfasts at our campsite (a family tradition). Alas, I did not anticipate a Nor’easter would disrupt my best laid plans. Gale-force winds, heavy rain, and rip current warnings kept us away from the campground and the beach.

I initially resisted my grandson’s description of our trip as a “bust” because, in my mind, that descriptor meant the trip was a total loss. That simply was not true! Plan B still included activities from our original plan, like visiting the North Carolina Aquarium at Fort Fisher, viewing carnivorous plants in the state park, and riding the ferry from Fort Fisher to Southport. While we didn’t get to cavort in the ocean waves, we did play in the indoor pool at our hotel - a new experience for our grandson, one that evoked happy vacation memories dating back to my own childhood. Even though we couldn’t prepare pancakes on our camp stove, we still enjoyed a pancake dinner in our hotel room, thanks to the kitchenette.

The day after we returned home, I took a walk beside the French Broad River. I was still thinking about our “busted” trip when I spotted the dried sunflower suspended upside down from a tree branch. That dangling, desiccated sunflower continues to bear witness to the devastating impact of Hurricane Helene more than a year after the floodwaters receded. Helene didn’t simply bust plans; this storm shattered lives. For most folks, a casual shift to Plan B was not an option; post-Helene life required a complete reorientation.

As I continued my walk, I skirted a field where sunflower heads drooped in unison under the afternoon sun. I had hoped I would be able to see this year’s crop of luminous sunflowers in their prime; clearly, I had missed the window of opportunity. Then I spotted the outlier - the single sunflower whose stalk remained erect. This flower’s glorious face beckoned me to stop and look, issuing an invitation to practice visio divina in the field.

What do you see in this image? Do you wonder, as I did, why this particular flower was still standing tall? In a few days, this sunflower’s stalk would inevitably weaken and bend. The head would eventually bow. Surely this wasn’t a lesson in resilience. After all, the end was near.

I left the field without clarity, still pondering the image of the solitary sunflower. The next day when I looked at the photograph I had taken on my walk, words from the Psalter came to mind: “Human life is like grass; we grow like a flower in the field. After the wind blows, the flower is gone, and there is no sign of where it was” (Psalm 103:15-16).

We grow like flowers in a field, susceptible to the storms of life. Winds are going to blow. Sometimes when our plans are busted, we can easily adapt. While we may temporarily be disappointed by the inconvenience, life goes on. Other times, forces beyond our control dramatically and traumatically reshape our lives. We find ourselves “working through the unimaginable”* without a backup plan, bowed down by grief and loss.

I think I now know what the Spirit was trying to say to me through this yellow and green image. What is the sunflower saying to you?

*A poignant line from “It’s Quiet Up Town” in Hamilton